


Where Wolves Fear To Prey

by ConniptionCrazy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Attack, Derek is a big puppy, Derek is a secret sap, Facing Fears, Feels, First Kiss, M/M, PTSD?, Panic Attacks, Stiles loves him a lot, Stiles starts having problems, actual wolves, but it's okay because Derek helps, trust me counter: 4, wolfdogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConniptionCrazy/pseuds/ConniptionCrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets attacked by wolfdogs on a raid with the pack and develops a fear of everything dog. Derek has a plan to help him get over that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Wolves Fear To Prey

_“Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.” - Lord Byron_

 

Stiles used to love dogs. Ever since he was a kid and the proud owner of a Jack Russel Terrier. Maybe that was what helped him to get used to the whole werewolves thing. What could be better than having a pack full of half-human half-puppies around all the time?

Nothing, that's what.

Or, nothing until now.

There were some new hunters in town. Gerard must have called them in before he made his great reichenbach fall. They were like him- had no concept of honor or code. They just wanted wolves dead, and fast.

So, of course, sick and tired of being pushed around and not getting any rest, the pack devised a plan. It was a pretty genius plan, if Stiles did say so himself, considering he was the one who thought it up.

The hunters didn't appear to be very smart. They lived in a _camper_ in the woods. They'd had to find this out through clever and careful scouting. Mostly process of elimination and some help from one Mr. Argent. This was the place where they kept all their weapons, plans, gear... If they could get in, steal it, it would be almost perfect. It might help them to get the hunters out of town. And even if it didn't, they would have their plans. They'd be one step ahead.

They chose to do it on a full moon. Maximum ruthlessness, and they'd be able to heal faster than on any other night. Dangerous, but at this point, what wasn't?

Stiles separated himself from the group as they trekked into the woods. The wolves' eyes were all aglow, their claws and fangs at the ready. Stiles had a hunting knife. Just a hunting knife. Because that was the largest knife his dad would let him own, the largest knife that Stiles could get away with. And if all went according to plan- which, hopefully, this time it would- Stiles wouldn't have to use it.

All he had to do was hide in the bushes as the pack went ahead. He watched them go, one by one towards the clearing where the camper was. They circled, slowly at first, closing in. A howl rose up, started by Derek, and the others answered it. Stiles held his breath. The hunters came out shooting. Stiles counted six- it was a damn big camper.

The hunters missed, and the pack was running about now, causing confusion, darting in and then falling back. Stiles swallowed hard, his palm sweaty on the grip of the knife. The pack began to slowly but steadily draw the hunters away. They got on their ATVs so they could keep up with the wolves, and it seemed like before Stiles knew it, they were gone.

"Now or never, Stilinski." Stiles mumbled to himself. He got up slowly, senses on high alert. He didn't think any of the hunters had stayed behind, but he'd learned that you could never be too sure.

Slowly, wincing at every cracked twig and crunched leaf, Stiles crept up to the camper. The door had swung shut behind the hunters, and on a whim, Stiles tried the handle.

Locked. Because nothing was _that_ easy.

Stiles took a deep, calming, focusing breath, and began to work at it with his knife. They didn't have much time and that really wasn't helpful, but Stiles thought he had a pretty good speed going, all things considered.

There was a small click, and Stiles made a mini-fist-bump-to-the-air. Victory, sweet indeed. He opened the door slowly, mindful still of traps. Derek had stressed that bit. Be careful of traps.

A growl from behind the door. Stiles froze. The handle slipped from his fingers and Stiles was too late to get it back- he hissed and whined high in his throat in dismay as the door slowly swung all the way open. The continued growling turned out to be from some very wolf-dog looking mutts.

And they were not happy to see Stiles.

There were two of them, and they were on Stiles before he could even say _good puppies_. Clawing, biting, snarling. It was the sort of situation where Stiles  knew it was him or the dogs. Life or death. He yelped, trying to kick the dogs off of him. His knife had gone flying when they tackled him, and he couldn't even see to struggle towards it.

The dogs were relentless, both coming for him simultaneously. Stiles screamed for help, on his back, struggling backwards. His shirt was being torn to pieces, and he threw up his arms to try and protect his throat and face.

"SCOTT!" He screamed. "DEREK! SOMEBODY, _come on_!!"

But there was no answer to his pleas, and the dogs just kept on coming. He stopped screaming words and just started _screaming_. At some point it became simply impossible to even fight back. Stiles just screamed, screamed and screamed and tried to protect the important bits. He was feeling lightheaded and dizzy, but he knew that his only hope was if one of the pack heard him and came running.

When no one came running, and the dogs were closing in, and his arms were weakening, Stiles realized. This was it. He was going to die here. No do-overs, no more lives left. No telling his dad he loved him, or telling Scott not to over-do the senioritis. No grinning at Derek just to see his annoyed face. No nothing anymore. His screen was blinking a big _GAME OVER_.

Stiles was lying on his back, just about to let his arms down, when the biggest black shape in the history of big black shapes barreled into the dogs. There was a brief tousle, a high pitched yelp and whine, and the dogs moved no more.

Stiles looked up blearily to see Derek. Bloodied, strong, _human_ Derek, who was wearing an expression of concern to the extreme.

“Stiles?!” He knelt, shaking Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles felt as though he were slipping under a fog. He opened his mouth to ask if something had gone down the Big Bad Wolf’s gullet wrong, but nothing came out save for a faint moan of pain. Derek stopped trying to shake him. Things became a blur. Stiles felt as though he were floating.

Derek, on the other hand, was panicking. They’d managed to chase the hunters off, snapping at their heels as they ran, the pack having torn their weapons from their hands. Derek had trained his betas well- they were no longer creatures to be trifled with. But then he’d heard Stiles screaming, come into the clearing to see him being ripped apart by those _abominations_ \- the sorry excuses for dogs.

Animals caught between two species. They shouldn’t exist.

So Derek took care of them. He told himself it wasn’t because he saw red at the sight of Stiles being harmed. It was simply that Stiles was pack, and he had to protect his pack as the Alpha. Stiles just happened to need a little more protecting than others.

He shook Stiles, pleading with anything good left in the universe for Stiles to say something, to _move_. His arms and chest, stomach and throat were all covered in blood. There was _so much blood_. A part of Derek was expecting the wounds to close up, for Stiles to be fine. Because that was just how pack worked.

But not Stiles. Because Stiles was human. So painfully, fragilely _human._

When he shook Stiles, all he got was a soft sound of pain and a vacant look. It was like Stiles was staring through him, not seeing him at all. They had no time. Derek did not wait for the rest of the pack. He slid his arms underneath Stiles, picked him up, and he ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, as fast as supernatural strength and speed would allow. A car could not have been faster.

It was five minutes. Five minutes before Derek was stumbling into the hospital, holding a now unconscious Stiles protectively to his chest. his throat had closed up, and it was hard to force words out as he stood there in the emergency room. It wasn’t like people weren’t staring at him- he was covered in Stiles’ blood, and that sort of thing tended to attract a lot of attention. It was just that nobody present really knew what to do. Perhaps it was just that they were all shocked.

Derek’s jaw and mouth moved uselessly as he tried to form a cohesive sentence. Finally, his voice hoarse and quiet at first but growing in strength, he managed to force something out.

“He needs help-!” Derek choked. “He was attacked- he needs _help_!”

It was around this time that Derek realized that the rest of the pack had followed him. Dirty and exhausted though they were, everyone wanted to help, in any way they could. Melissa was there, speaking to Derek softly, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. All he could see was Stiles’ blood and mud-splattered face, and his own arms tightening around his limp body.

Finally, Erica’s voice in his ear.

“-ou need to let go, Derek! _Let go_! Mrs. McCall’s got it from here- there you go, let them take him.” Her voice was surprisingly calm, and it helped Derek to focus and loosen his arms so Melissa and some other nurses could get Stiles on a stretcher, a doctor trailing behind and shouting orders for chemicals and equipment that Derek couldn’t make sense of.

He wobbled in place, somewhat dazed. Stiles could die. Derek could smell it on him- Stiles could _die_. The whole way here, his thoughts had been a blur, but now that he thought- he should have bit Stiles when he had the chance. Maybe it would have helped to save his life. Even if Stiles didn’t want it, Derek didn’t think he could stand it if Stiles didn’t exist. He was a part of this pack as much as anyone else, and there was a place for him now.

To suddenly have that place empty... It would just be wrong.

Derek became aware that Scott was calling the Sheriff, but he couldn’t hear anything. All he could smell was Stiles’ blood. He was covered in it. All he could see was the red of it dripping down his arms, crusting in his t-shirt. Derek sat down heavily in a chair in the waiting room and had a few people edge away from him. He didn’t care. The pack hovered, horrified, frantic, worried, afraid.

For the first time in a very long time, Derek just wanted everything to be okay again.

-=-

_“They will eat like wolves and fight like devils.” - William Shakespeare_

“Do you want to go to school today, kiddo?”

The sheriff’s voice was muffled through the door of Stiles’ bedroom. The sun wasn’t even up yet- time for him to start getting ready to go to school. If he even felt like he could. Stiles rolled over in bed, taking his time to mull over the idea. Did he really want to show up to school, looking like he did? It wouldn’t be the first time seeing the pack- no, they’d been over almost constantly. Especially Derek, who was even more of a creeper than usual.

It wasn’t them that Stiles was worried about. They took Stiles in stride, just as they always did. No, that wasn’t why Stiles hesitated.

It was facing the rest of the student body at large. It was facing his teachers, adults he (sort of) respected. It was the threat of hundreds of pairs of eyes on him as he walked through the halls.

“Yeah.” He called out. “I’ll go.”

Stiles dragged himself up out of bed, wincing as skin stretched and pulled in a way it never had before. He crossed the room to turn on his bedroom light and then stood, looking at himself in the mirror.

He was dressed in red boxers that had black wolf paw-prints on them, a joke gift from Boyd. But that wasn’t the most attention-grabbing thing. It was the scars that covered his chest and arms. They were in every direction. Most were deep, but a few were shallow. Some were jagged, but most were smooth. Precise. Stiles swallowed. The scars were mostly on his forearms, but some did travel up his shoulders. They were everywhere. There was barely any unmarred skin left. The worst ones still had stitches in them.

Stiles turned away from his reflection, getting dressed mechanically in loose painter’s jeans, mostly unlaced skating shoes, a t-shirt, and his red jacket. He zipped it up all the way. Taking one more look at himself in the mirror to assure himself that not a single scar showed, Stiles nodded firmly to himself and went downstairs.

Scott was waiting there, tossing an apple up and down as he waited, talking with the Sheriff, who was sipping his coffee. The two stopped when Stiles walked in, and Scott shot him a winning grin.

“Stiles, my main man! Today, we own the world!” Scott said, in a bad impression of what he probably thought was Clint Eastwood but somehow ended up sounding like Bugs Bunny.

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. _Whatever_. He’d let Scott have his fantasy. He was just glad that at least between them, everything had returned to normal. Scott didn’t treat him like Stiles was glass, and for that, he was grateful.

Well, mostly normal.

“Let’s just go and get this over with.” Stiles sighed, dramatic on purpose.

He snatched up his backpack, and the Sheriff insisted on driving them both to school, so Stiles and Scott loaded into the backseat of the cruiser so that they could sit next to one another and Scott could copy latework. They started out, and the street lamps were still on. Stiles got caught up in watching Scott’s hand travel across the page. If he thought about it hard enough, or not, depending upon how you looked at it, the words Scott wrote stopped making sense and were just pretty symbols on a page.

And then Stiles made the mistake of glancing up at Scott’s face just as they passed a street lamp. His eyes reflected gold, unbeknownst to Scott, and Stiles jumped almost violently, curling himself against the door.

Like he said. Mostly normal.

Scott, who at this point had gotten used to Stiles’ new-found fear of all things dog, pretended like nothing had happened. The Sheriff didn’t seem to have noticed, having been speaking frustratedly into his radio.

Stiles forced himself to relax, pushing the image of the wolfdogs from his mind. It didn’t help that every time he closed his eyes, they were there. Every time he laid down to sleep, they were in his dreams, waiting to pounce, waiting to tear out his throat or chase him through the woods or torture and kill him in some other way. Sometimes it was simply a memory of that night.

Stiles didn’t know why he couldn’t handle it. Why the images wouldn’t get out of his head. It was a near death experience, sure, and there was some PTSD or something to be expected, but not like this, right? This was just borderline ridiculous. He didn’t want to be afraid of his friends. He didn’t want to go scrambling for a hiding place under his bed whenever the first hint of fur or fangs made an appearance.

The only _good_ thing to come out of this whole situation was that it was illegal to own wolfdogs in the state of California. So the hunters were sent running before Stiles or the pack could run to the police, as the group had to know they would.

The ride to school was otherwise uneventful. Stiles somehow managed to take a few deep breaths and be _normal_. They got to school early, just as the sun was coming up. It was that time of the year. The rest of the pack was already there, and Stiles took comfort from the touches they exchanged with him- little brushes of clothes, hands on the shoulder. He understood now why it was important for them to touch. They needed the shared reassurance that everything was okay, and Stiles found that he could take the same comfort away from it, once he got used to it.

He had at least one part of the pack in every class, and even if they weren’t whispering together, it was nice to be close. Stiles felt a little more courageous. He could push the feeling of skin pulling where it shouldn’t out of his mind, whenever he reached for something that was previously within his grasp and his arms protested. It was just this way now, and he was going to have to get used to it. Stiles swallowed unhappily at the thought and tried to focus on school.

“Hey, you want to come over to the house tonight?” Isaac asked, bright and cheery no matter what.

The house had come to mean the mostly-repaired Hale house, where the pack now spent their time. Stiles hadn’t been there since the attack. He didn’t think he could handle it. It was just that- as much as he hated to even think it- it felt like he was walking into the lion’s den. He didn’t know if he was ready for that.

But Isaac was giving him _that_ smile. The one Stiles couldn’t say no to. So he smiled weakly back.

“Okay.”

-=-

_"We humans fear the beast within the wolf because we do not understand the beast within ourselves" -Gerald Hausman_

“Watch it, McCall!”

“It was your fucking fault, Jackson!”

Stiles looked up from the book he was reading on the porch. It was early evening, and dinner had been had, and the pack had spilled out into the yard to train or play games or just do whatever. Scott and Jackson had started up a game of frisbee, which everyone else had slowly joined, save for Lydia, Allison, Derek, and Stiles himself.

Stiles would have played, except Derek had given him a look that said _If you get out of that seat I swear to god I’ll rip you apart myself._

Which brought a whole slew of unpleasant thoughts and had made Stiles sit back down very quickly, thankyouverymuch. But it seemed something had gone wrong in the friendly game, and things weren’t so friendly anymore.

Stiles watched as the fight devolved into low blows and biting insults. before anyone really knew it, both Jackson and Scott’s eyes were flashing, their fangs came out, and they launched themselves at each other, all claws and growls and snapping jaws.

It was like in the movies, where Stiles was seeing what was happening, but at the same time he was stuck in a memory. The wide, wild eyes of the wolfdogs coming for him. The saliva dripping off of their fangs. The sounds of the snarls and his own screams loud and mixing together in his ears. The smell of his own blood and of earth. Pain. So much pain.

Stiles’ chest tightened abruptly, and he curled in on himself in a reflex. His breath was coming in short, sharp stuttering gasps. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t think of anything else but that night- He was going to pass out. But if he passed out, he’d face the dogs again, and he couldn’t- he couldn't _do that._

“Hey-!” Derek’s voice found it’s way through the panic.

Stiles looked up through the haze to see Derek pulling the betas apart, throwing Scott into a tree and kicking Jackson in the gut.

“Both of you, cut it out.” He snarled lowly.

When Derek turned, there wasn’t a single part of him that was wolf. He walked over to Stiles on the porch, leaving his betas recovering, and took Stiles’ biceps in his big hands.

“C’mon, Stiles. Come on.” He demanded firmly but not unkindly. Stiles went, stumbling a little, tunnel vision fading and then returning in waves.

Derek led him inside to the living room, where it was quiet and cool and private. He forced Stiles to sit down before sitting down beside him. They weren’t touching, except Derek was holding his hand and when had that happened? Stiles was squeezing hard enough that it should have been painful, but Derek wasn’t giving any indication that that was the case. He merely took it, a frown on his face as he tried to look Stiles in the eye.

“Breathe, Stiles, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Derek’s tone was low, soothing. It was like he’d done this before, but Stiles couldn’t recall a time that it might have happened.

He wondered who this person was and where the real Derek had gone. Maybe a Big Bad Wolf and come and eaten the Big Not-So-Bad Wolf.

That didn’t even really make sense in his head.

Derek was still talking to him, and it didn’t seem to matter what he was saying, because it was working. Stiles’ breathing slowed down, and he was able to unfold himself. He let himself loosen his deathgrip on Derek’s hand.

“There you go. See? You’re fine.” Derek said almost smugly.

“I never said I wasn’t.” Stiles retorted breathlessly with no sting.

“Of course you didn’t.” Derek wasn’t taking it like the joke it was meant to be. He was serious. “You’re getting over this.” He said firmly.

“What- no- it’ll go away on it’s own.” Stiles’ breath hitched again in fear. He didn’t want to know the methods Derek had in mind for trying to help Stiles get over this. He just didn’t want to know.

“No. This isn’t an option, Stiles.” Derek said lowly. “I won’t hurt you, you know that. I won’t make you go passed your limits. I’m just asking to push them.”

“Push them.” Stiles repeated flatly. He looked down at their joined hands, at his hand in his lap. “I really don’t have a choice, do I?” It wasn’t really a question.

“No, you don’t.” Derek answered matter-of-factly.

“Okay then. When do we start?” Stiles asked weakly.

-=-

_"The gaze of the wolf reaches into our soul." -Barry Lopez_

Turns out that starting was starting _right now._ Derek took them to a room upstairs that looked pretty unused. A guest room, then. Stiles sat down on the bed, jumpy and nervous because he knew that something was about to happen and he probably wasn't going to like it. Just a thought.

Derek stood by the door, closing it softly behind him. Stiles was really starting to hope that they could go back on this. Like, _lol, jk, just wanted to scare the shit out of you_.

"Look at me, Stiles." Derek said lowly.

Stiles swallowed. He didn't want to be afraid of the pack. He didn't want to be _afraid_ of an animal that he used to _love_. He looked up.

Derek's eyes were glowing, their red color permeating every part of his iris. They were the eyes of a wolf. Stiles flinched, so violently that it would have been comical if the situation were not so serious. But he managed to stay in place. And while the tension in his body did anything but ease as Derek slowly came closer and closer, he wasn't moving away, and that was certainly a step up.

It took a long time of them sitting and standing there respectively, staring into each other's eyes, for Stiles to be okay with Derek coming to sit on the bed with him. It was a lot less romantic than it sounded and much more _oh my god I'm gonna die- wait, it's Derek. Ohmygod I'm gonna die- wait, it's Derek, over and over again._

But finally, Stiles managed to be able to do next to Derek without flipping out about his eyes. They say that the eyes are the window to the soul, and while Stiles was sure that he himself was an open book, he couldn't read a single one if Derek's emotions. Maybe just calm, cool determination.

It might have been an hour, or it might use been two hours, but Stiles couldn't bear to look anymore. He tore his eyes away, looking down at his lap instead. It was a lot less nerve wracking to look at his lap instead.

"You did good, Stiles. That was better than I thought you would do."

"Do you want to hug, too?" Stiles didn't mean for it to come out as biting as it did. He wanted to get over this- being rude to the person who was trying to help him was not the way to go about it.

"If you wanted to." Derek shrugged

"Oh my god." Stiles got up, shaking his head. "I... I have to go. Dinner. Dad. You know."

He didn't wait for Derek to give confirmation that yes, he knew, before he was out the door and on the way home. It had been a long damn day.

It was only when he was parking that he realized they had already had dinner, and he'd used that as an excuse. Stiles facepalmed, one hand still on the wheel.

-=-

_For love the wolf eats the sheep. - German proverb_

 

This didn’t stop. Derek was over Stiles’ house every afternoon after school. They started with eyes. Derek would make his eyes red, and come closer and closer to Stiles, until they were sitting side by side. It took an embarrassingly long time for Stiles to get used to just that, and it seemed an even longer time before they could move on to anything else.

But move on, they did. Progress was being made. After the eyes it was the furry face and arms. Without the strong brow and fangs and everything else to go with it, Derek looked sort of funny. Funny weird and funny ha-ha. Stiles still didn’t laugh. Derek seemed to be proud of him. He’d leave Stiles’ house standing a little taller than when he came in, something in his eyes that Stiles couldn’t read.

Derek’s eyes never got any easier to read. Ever.

After the furry face came the strong brow, the pronounced bone structures. Stiles was better with those than anything else. It came easy to accept that. To not think of the wolves and their biting jaws and their claws that rent his flesh. This was Derek. A side of Derek that Stiles doubted anyone had seen in a very long time. A side eager to help and to heal.

When he could think about it, which was when Derek had already left, Stiles felt privileged. He kept meaning to thank Derek for it, for some absurd reason, but it just never came up.

Where Stiles started to have problems again was with the teeth and the claws. He would jump and tense and quiver in fear, which he hadn’t done in a long time, and it had been almost four months in total since the attack.

When Stiles thought about it that way, it seemed strange to be reacting so violently. It felt like it should be nothing but a faded memory, already gone in order to make room for new things. It simply wasn’t, however, and there seemed to be nothing Stiles could do about it. About the nightterrors that visited him in the deepest throes of sleep.

Derek always kept his body language relaxed. Never threatening. Always facing slightly away from Stiles in some way until he came to sit down beside Stiles on the bed. When sitting on the bed was too much, Derek would ease onto the floor and sit at Stiles’ feet, directly in front of him, his hands harmlessly laying on his knees. They would stare at each other, and slowly, Stiles’ breathing would calm. His heart would stop pounding so badly. He could relax and start to babble about something- anything- it didn’t matter what he talked about so long as he talked.

Derek had learned that a talking Stiles was an okay Stiles.

Of course, the Sheriff had no idea this was going on. Stiles couldn’t just let him know that the real reason for his accident was much more dangerous than just walking by the wrong part of the woods looking for Scott. He’d seen his dad grow enough gray hairs already- he didn’t want to start making him go bald, too.

This being taken into consideration, they should have seen this coming. Stiles' father was the sheriff for a reason.

Which was how he showed up at Derek's house. The Hale house. Derek watched the Sheriff come up the walk, grimacing to himself. He'd always walked over to Stiles' house- how the Sheriff had found them out he had no idea. But this was happening now and he was going to have to deal with it.

The knock came at the door and Derek held in a wince. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe the Sheriff was just here to make sure everything was kosher in the woods. Serial killers out there and Derek being all alone and all.

But Derek really doubted it.

The knock came again. There really was no getting out of this. Fantastic.

Derek got up and trudged to the door like it was his own execution, pulling it open and schooling his face into a neutral expression.

“Sheriff.” He said, by way of greeting.

“Derek.” The Sheriff looked equally unemotional. Derek began to feel queasy. “You going to invite me in?” Mr. Stilinski asked after they had stood in silence for some time.

Derek stepped aside, nodding mutely. He showed Stiles’ father to the living room, motioning at the various seating arrangements as an invitation for the Sheriff to make himself comfortable. Mr. Stilinski did so, never taking his eyes off of Derek. Derek began to find courage again. Whatever this was, he could pass the test.

“Would you like coffee? I don’t have any, but I could make some.” Derek offered.

“No, no, thanks though.” The Sheriff smiled. “Do you know why I’m here today, Derek?”

“I don’t, sir, no.” Little known fact- there was very little that could terrify Derek. And one of those things was the Sheriff. He took a seat in an armchair where he could face the Sheriff easily.

It wasn’t that the Sheriff had a gun, or the power of the law behind him. Those were things Derek could overlook, one way or another. It was that the Sheriff reminded him of his own father. Not in looks- the two would have been nothing alike, physically. But it was the way he held himself, the confidence, the exhaustion. It was these things that bought him Derek’s respect.

“I couldn’t help but notice you and my son spending quite a bit of time together, and-”

Derek could sense the misunderstanding coming.

“I’m just helping him.” Derek interrupted quickly. “With his fear of dogs.” He was also quick to clarify. Too late he realized that he didn’t have a dog, and that the fact that he didn’t have a dog was a glaringly obvious fact.

“I don’t see how you could be doing that unless you were a werewolf or something.” The Sheriff obviously thought he was being funny, judging by the amused twist to his lips.

Except Derek wasn’t laughing. Derek was freezing up _. Smooth, Derek, so fucking smooth. Just lie. Tell him you aren’t. Pack’s in danger-_

He’d wasted too much time. Hadn’t covered it up. He could see the expression on the Sheriff’s face changing, from confusion, to amusement, and then back to grave awe as he realized Derek really wasn’t denying it.

“But you’re not-” The Sheriff cut himself off, falling silent, brown knitting in confusion.

It might as well be now. Better now than later, before Stiles was dead instead of just hurt.

“I am.” Derek said evenly. “Stiles isn’t. Before you ask.”

“But you couldn’t be-? Could-? _What?_ ”

Derek extended a hand, palm up, and with a slight seizure of his fingers where they assumed a vaguely curled position, out came the claws and the extra hair. Derek waited long enough for the Sheriff to realize that they were real and that this wasn’t a dream before he retracted his arm and made the wolf leave. Back to normal.

“How many others are there?”

“Six.” Derek answered. “My uncle. Scott. A few others.” Derek wouldn’t give them all away, but the Sheriff deserved to know that his son’s best friend wasn’t human all the time.

“And do you..?”

“No. We don’t kill people. We weren’t-” Derek made a frustrated noise. “The mountain lion attacks were my uncle. We dealt with it. It’s a long story.” He sighed.

“And where do you fit in?” The Sheriff was being surprisingly calm. Derek wasn’t expecting it to last very long.

“I’m the alpha.” Derek sat a little straighter, shoulders back, chin level.

“Stiles? What about him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is he safe? Was the attack- was that a, uh, a pack thing?”

“It was. It was my fault. I should have left someone with him, if not myself.” Derek’s lips twisted into a self-deprecating frown. “You can be sure it won’t happen again.”

“It had better not. I’m not sure what kills werewolves, but I do have a gun and a hefty arsenal.” The Sheriff wasn’t kidding.

Derek nodded and didn’t say anything.

“The same goes for Scott’s safety.”

“I expected that.” Derek admitted.

There was a very long moment of silence where the two men sized each other up and then proceeded to look around the room and not at each other. Derek was staring out of the front windows when Mr. Stilinski spoke.

“I’d better get home.” The Sheriff stood, and Derek was swift to follow. “Things to do, still.”

Derek nodded. He showed the Sheriff to the door, standing in the open doorway as the Sheriff made his way down the front steps. At the bottom, Mr. Stilinski turned around.

“Derek?” Derek blinked, making the smallest of nods. “Thank you.” His nod was bigger this time, just once, but more of an acknowledgement.

The Sheriff let out a soft breath through a smile before turning around and heading to his squad car. Derek watched from the front step as the car got smaller and smaller before finally disappearing among the trees. He stood on his porch, hands in his pockets, door standing open behind him until he couldn’t hear it either. And then he went back inside, shutting the door softly behind himself.

-=-

_"We listened for a voice crying in the wilderness. And we heard the jubilation of wolves!" -Durwood L. Allen_

 

Derek and Stiles continued to work together, more openly now that the Sheriff knew. Stiles had, very shockingly, not been grounded for lying or hiding things from his father. Stiles wouldn’t talk about that conversation, though, and Derek got the impression that it had been a very emotional talk. He didn’t pry.

Slowly, Stiles was able to get better. It took time, but he could finally stand to have the pack go wolf-men (or wolf-woman, in Erica’s case.) He was good with puppy piles again. But the moment someone went on four legs and grew a tail, Stiles had to remove himself from the room. At the very least.

Derek had helped him to learn a few breathing exercises. Not the stuff he’d been given by guidance counselors over the years to help cope with panic attacks, but stuff that actually worked. It also taught him how to hold his breath longer under water but that was beside the point.

It was a sunny day. Not for long- there were dark clouds on the horizon, but they were far, far away. Stiles and Derek were watching them approach from a meadow out in the woods. They were maybe some ten feet apart, due to horsing around (because Derek actually did have moments where he was awkward and giddy. It happened. Stiles had seen it happen when they were walking through the woods and a little brown hare had exploded from its warren and Derek had stopped _mid sentence_ and shot after it only to reappear five minutes later gasping for air and looking absolutely _thrilled_ before he realized that he was still with another living being that had a mouth and spoke English and could tell people this was a thing that happened. Then he’d been back to his normal brooding self, but that was a whole different issue.) and that was okay.

They weren’t talking much. Stiles was okay with being quiet in Derek’s presence. Anything he wanted to ask or say either wasn’t very pressing (which was surprising, because everything Stiles had to say was pressing and important) or Derek answered for him before he could ask.

Throughout Derek helping him, Stiles had found that they actually worked pretty good together. Probably because he spoke Derek-eyebrows.

Derek turned to look at him with one raised eyebrow and a frown on his face.

Yep. Totally spoke Derek-eyebrows.

Stiles turned his eyes back to the clouds on the horizon. Closer now, more menacing, but not quite dangerous. Not yet. He opened his mouth to make a comment about it to Derek, but when he looked, Derek wasn’t there.

Or, he was, but, he wasn’t. Instead, laying flat on the ground, was a black wolf.

Stiles stiffened. Every muscle went taught. He stared at Derek in abject terror. The only thing that stopped him from getting up and running was that Derek stressed _never ever_ _run_ , and it was Derek. Derek wouldn’t hurt him. Stiles had absolute trust in that, if he hadn’t before.

Derek was laying on the grass facing Stiles, his head down between his paws, his big fluffy tail wagging side to side behind him quietly. It was picking up grass seeds and such as it went, but Derek seemed oblivious. He was staring at Stiles.

Stiles stared back. Swallowed.

Slowly, Derek slid a paw forward. Then the other one. Then his back paws, one by one, followed by his head lifting up the slightest bit and being set down between his paws again. His tail didn’t stop wagging. Stiles didn’t relax. There was a long moment passed in silence. And then Derek slid a paw forward again. Then the others. His head. Stiles watched carefully, but he didn’t move back.

Again, there was a long pause. A rumble of thunder in the distance that went ignored. Derek was right up against his thigh now. A furry black head rested on Stiles’ leg, paws tucked up close. Stiles took a deep breath and screwed up his courage. He could do this. He could totally do this. Derek wasn’t those dogs, he was Derek. And he wouldn’t let Stiles get hurt- much less be the person to hurt him. Those dogs were freaks of nature and the result of assholes raising and training them.

Not all dogs, not all people, were like that.

Stiles rose a hand and put it on Derek’s head. He tentatively rubbed behind Derek’s ears and was surprised to see Derek’s tail start to wag so hard his butt wiggled. Derek rose up, still crouching, not yet standing fully up, which Stiles appreciated. Derek’s muzzle was drawing close to his face. _Oh god oh god oh godohgodohgodohg-_

A wet, warm, pink tongue began to lap at Stiles’ chin. A shocked, almost hysterical peal of laughter escaped Stiles’ lips before he could stop it. Derek was whining softly but insistently, his whole body wiggling as he licked Stiles’ face. He got more enthusiastic the more Stiles’ laughter became genuine, and the more Stiles’ hands traveled through his thick fur.

Stiles screwed his eyes shut, trying to tilt his face away from Derek’s tongue, only to get licked in the _ear,_ which sent him to the ground on his back, trying to wipe his ear on his t-shirt at his shoulder and force Derek away. But Derek was having none of it, barking, whining, doing the butt-wiggling thing, and _licking Stiles_ , basically _everywhere_. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever been so sensitive in his life.

And when he’d laughed himself almost to the point of exhaustion, he became abruptly aware of a warm weight all over, hard muscles boxing him in, and the fact that he was one side of the most amazing kiss of the century.

Derek’s tongue at his lips.

Make that the most amazing kiss of all history in the history of history ever, ad infinitum.

Stiles hummed shortly, surprised, and tangled his fingers in Derek’s hair. Because he’d be damned if he froze up about this. He couldn’t let Derek get away. Not this time. And he wouldn’t let Derek pass this off as... Overzealousness, or something. This was real and this was them and- and dammit, Stiles wanted this for himself. A little selfish, maybe, but he wanted to be the one Derek could rely on, even if he wasn’t all big and growly and wolfed out once a month himself.

The rain was soon upon them, coming down as a light sprinkle at first. Derek rolled to the side and stood up, pulling Stiles after him. Stiles, whose cheeks were starting to hurt already from grinning so widely. It didn’t matter, because Derek had the most serene smile on his face. Like maybe he’d just found a little bit of peace inside Stiles.

The two started walking back to the Hale house, to hot showers and warm towels and cover. Just as they hit the tree line, the rain started to come down in earnest, pelting their heads and shoulders and practically shoving them in the opposite direction that they actually wanted to go.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. Not even the rain could get him down now. It was a surprise- pleasant, mind you- when Derek’s big hand encircled Stiles’ own. Derek only had to look back at Stiles over his shoulder, tugging him forward once, before Stiles got the message and nodded excitedly.

Together, laughing at the sky on Stiles’ part, they ran through the woods. For once, Stiles’ lungs didn’t burn, even though he knew it was a long way. His legs didn’t demand for him to stop. And Derek looked happy. The rain only made it all a billion times better. A dozen glittering things suspended in air for them to enjoy in a sort of fairyland delight. It was thoughtless joy. The sort you got from coming home.

And when they’d made it to the Hale house, when they were sitting at the kitchen table wearing dry clothes (Derek’s clothes smelled like Derek and Stiles took no shame in blatantly pulling the neckline up over his nose to breathe it in), with towels draped over their heads in shitty attempts at drying their hair, warm drinks in mugs in their hands, Derek leaned over and whispered in Stiles’ ear.

“I think you’re over your fear.”

-Finis-

**Author's Note:**

> Another work suggested by the fantabulous CaptainStilinski! This was actually written a while ago, and I'm just now uploading it because I'm stupid. ^^;; Anyway. I think I've got a thing for adorable actual wolf Derek. Just saying. ENJOY.


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